


Dream of Whatever You Like Best

by imreallybadatusernames



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dream Sex, M/M, Pining, Voyeurism, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24164773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imreallybadatusernames/pseuds/imreallybadatusernames
Summary: Aziraphale liked to visit dreams. They were absurd, silly, and an oppurtunity to help humans figure things out.When he accidentally visits one of Crowleys dreams, he is given that opportunity.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 63
Kudos: 222





	1. The first

**Author's Note:**

> Coming back from the void to throw a fic atcha!!
> 
> CW consent issues? (accidental intrusion on dreams which are beyond crowleys control) Very slight! But be mindful of your wellbeing.

Even though he wasn’t much for sleep himself, Aziraphale liked to visit dreams. The creative, messy minds of humans were on full display in their dreams, rapidly changing scenes and producing absurd bits of conversation that made complete sense to their brains in the moment. Though he could never fully understand it, Aziraphale loved it. Of course, if anyone from up above had asked, he would merely express their usefulness as a subtle but effective way of spreading the heavenly word. A well placed feeling or apparition in the subconscious could be the first domino to fall in a series of thoughts and actions that turn a life around. But nobody from head office had asked Aziraphale about dreams, dominos, or really anything since a boy decided the world was worth saving.

On particularly boring nights, such as this one, Aziraphale settled in his armchair, relaxed, closed his eyes and let his consciousness wander around London, leaving his body sitting around quite uselessly. He was just leaving a man who was being chased by zebras and vampiric rabbits (he could handle that himself, Aziraphale decided) as a consciousness caught his interest. He was attracted to it, quite like a fly to the light. Curiously, he stepped into the bubble of temporary reality.

He was greeted by fire. The heat in the air was as palpable as the feeling of dread. For a second, Aziraphale was terrified, certain that heaven had decided he was worth the trouble of eliminating after all. But he remained un-eliminated, and while the fire was fierce and brutal, it did not hurt him. 

Of course. The oppressive atmosphere, the way the air refused to let give, thick and syrupy, the cluttered and tight space reminiscent of a labyrinth- he recognized a nightmare when he was in one. This was just some poor tortured soul caught in a bad dream. But it was a decidedly strange soul. It felt old, and somehow familiar.

Books were strewn about the floor, their pages turning black and curling inwards as the greedy flames consumed them. Aziraphale cringed. It’s not real books, he told himself. Still, he tried not to look.

Aziraphale was just about to bless the dream into oblivion and exchange it for something nicer, like a cup of tea with the dreamers favourite historical figure, when he heard someone yelling. He made sure he wouldn’t be visible and carefully stepped around the flames.

That’s when he saw a figure, seemingly unbothered by the fire and running frantically, kicking and throwing things around, with a heart pumping as rapidly as the wings of a hummingbird. He was dressed in all black, with hair that made the flames seem like a poor imitation.

“AZIRAPHALE!” he shouted. The angel in question froze. He could recognize that voice anywhere. The flames licking around his legs did nothing to thaw him, despite their hungry conquest of everything else in the room.

“AZIRAPHALE! YOU FUCKING BASTARD” his voice was hoarse, as if he had been screaming for years, but had a determination that said that he would scream for hundreds more. 

“YOU CAN’T BE DEAD! THEY CAN’T HAVE TAKEN YOU,”

He had to go. This was not appropriate. This was perverted, an intrusion, a breaking of trust.

Crowley fell to his knees and suddenly his face was clearly visible in the vehement light of the flames, contorted in a way Aziraphale had never seen before. The light played with the wet streaks on his cheeks, and his eyes were squeezed shut.

“You can’t leave me. I need you.” he whispered to the floor. “I- Aziraphale, I...”

 _Please,_ Aziraphale thought. _Dream of what you like best._ And then he left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got most of this written up already and I am so pumped to share it with you guys!!!
> 
> I am a nästy Swede so do correct my grammar if something catches your eye.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated <3


	2. The second one

Tea. He needed tea. His body felt sluggish, jetlagged by suddenly being occupied again. Aziraphale automatically went through the motions as his thoughts refused to move an inch, the cogs in his head petulantly stagnant. Once he had oiled them with some Earl Grey, he tried to gather his thoughts.

It’s fine. A little embarrassing, but it was fine. He wondered what Crowley had dreamt about after Aziraphale banished the nightmare. He was probably gleefully turning traffic lights blue or making every banana exactly as ripe or unripe as the person in possession of it hated.

He tried to forget Crowley's face as he begged for his friend back. Tried to take the image of the broken man he’d seen and puzzle the pieces back together into the composed exterior he knew. He hadn’t thought that the fire had left such an impression on Crowley. That the prospect of Aziraphale being gone could elicit such a reaction. Crowley was the epitome of cool. Probably invented the word for all the temperature based puns.

How could he have known? Crowley had never mentioned it. Of course, he wouldn’t. He tried to picture Crowley looking him in the eye and saying “Hey, when I thought you died I felt feelings and cried a lot,” but it was, obviously, impossible.

Aziraphale himself had always avoided such declarations, the threat from above and below always suffocating the words on his tongue. “We’re not friends!” he had screamed to all that would hear, “So for the love of someone, anyone, don’t hurt him,” was left unsaid. 

It was a habit of silence formed over thousands of years, but he had to make it clear. Crowley was his best friend and he would never lose him again.

-/-/-

It took a while, but Crowley picked up the phone.

“Ahoy hoy” He sounded slightly out of breath.

“Crowley! Hello!” said Aziraphale cheerfully. “It’s me,” he added conspiratorially, mostly to be annoying.

“I bloody well know it’s you,” Sheets rustled in the background. “You woke me up.”

“My apologies, dear. Did you at least sleep well?

“Yeah. Slept fine.”

“Excellent! I was thinking you could come over this evening.” He opened his mouth to invent a convenient excuse, such as a new delicacy to taste or good wine that simply must be shared but Crowley spoke first.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you at seven?”

“Seven is good.”

“´Kay. See you. Ta.”

-/-/-

They spent most of the night getting sloshed and doing ridiculous impressions of historical figures, but in the end it inevitably devolved into barely warranted giggling and stream-of-consciousness monologues that were impossible to follow.

During a lull in the conversation, Aziraphale decided to speak.

“I’ve been thinking,”

“That’s new,”

Aziraphale wanted to laugh, but he soldiered on. He had something to say. “I have though. I have been feeling so... Happy. The apocalypse is over. We are alive.

“It’s pretty dang hard to be happy when you’re dead,” Crowley muttered. His hand twitched where it laid beside him. Aziraphale decided to be brave. He took it. It was surprisingly warm.

“Of course I’m glad that I’m alive, but the most wonderful thing is being able to spend time with you. Freely.”

Crowley made a noise that somehow contained no vowels.

“You know that you are my dearest friend, right?”

“‘Course I know. You’re too much of a bastard to make any others.”

It was deflective, but a little smile played on his lips. His glasses had been misplaced ages ago, and for that Aziraphale thanked God. Or whoever. It was a shame to hide those eyes.

“Angel?” Crowley sounded breathless. There was an implicit question in the word, but Aziraphale couldn’t decode it. He tried to search for it in the fine lines of Crowleys’ face, in the sharp shape of his nose, in his bright, open eyes. He had never looked at him like that before the apocalypse. As if it wasn’t such an impossibility anymore, to remove his protective layers and just be. Aziraphale realised he had been staring into his eyes for longer than he intended. A warmth had entered his bloodstream, trickling through his body down to his toes. It was pleasant.

“Yes?” he responded, one loaded question facing another.

Crowey opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to decide against it. He sighed, and his hand retreated. Aziraphale missed the warmth immediately. 

“Anyways. Ehrm. I’ve worked on my Freud impression. Check this out.”

-/-/-

Soon after proudly declaring his cure for cocaine addiction was simply more cocaine, Crowley started slumbering on the sofa, and Aziraphale got him a blanket. 

“Sweet dreams!”

“Shut up.”

Aziraphale settled comfortably with a book in his lap, proud of how well the night had turned out. He was several pages in before he realized that he might have literally bestowed sweet dreams onto Crowley. He was probably having a miserable time right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler alert he had an EXELLENT time


	3. Now the third

He hadn’t meant to enter Crowley's dreams again. It was strange, how he had managed to miss them for years and years before, but after his first visit his being naturally gravitated in that direction, in a way that Aziraphale didn’t even notice until he was standing there, quite cross with himself. 

The atmosphere was very different this time. It was the bookshop again, but decidedly not on fire, except for a few candles strewn aimlessly about in the cinematic way that showed no regard for safety concerns.

In the back, Crowley was monologuing about something. Aziraphale’s traitorous feet walked closer. He just wanted to make sure it wasn’t a nightmare again. That’s all.

Crowley was sitting on the sofa, speech making less sense than ever before, every once in a while looking up at his companion next to him to make sure he followed along.

“And the, the ants, you know? Small little buggers. Literally! Anywhomst, -”

Aziraphale walked closer. Who was he talking to? It’s not like he had plenty of friends, except for-

Aziraphale. It was him. Aziraphale stared at himself. He looked… different. It was clearly him, but there was something about him. Something invisible to his own eyes, something no mirror, photo, or painting had ever conveyed. His hair looked silvery and fluffy, shining as if it were an actual halo. His smile was bright, his eyes shone a brilliant blue, and his clothes somehow fit him better.

He should leave, of course. But something in him refused to. His dream-self laughed, the joy bubbling out of him like he was a fountain laced with several bottles of soap. Then there was silence.

“Angel?” Crowley sounded breathless. Open.

He’d heard that tone of voice before, had that face etched into his memory. In the shop, while holding his hand, much like his counterpart was doing now. Was he going to find out what it meant? An invitation? A request?

“Yes.” That wasn’t a question, that was an answer, even more laden with unknowable meaning.

But the demon knew. His eyes were full of purpose as he shuffled closer to dream-Aziraphale, gently held his face, and kissed him. Aziraphale must have gasped audibly, but so did his counterpart, so it went unnoticed. If he was wearing his eyes right now, they would have popped out and left for good. 

Crowley and dream-Aziraphale moved softly against one another, small sighs of contentment escaping them both. Crowley slowly laid down dream-Aziraphale below him on the maroon cushions, letting their bodies press together. It looked so natural, like the ocean lapping on the shore, coming and going in waves, forming the shape of the world with its steady beat. Like a perfect fit.

Crowley broke the kiss and the two of them looked at each other with soft smiles, slightly out of breath.

“Angel.” he whispered.

Crowley kissed his dreamed imitation with such adoration, such gentleness. He kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, his wrists, his neck, everywhere. And dream-Aziraphale sighed in pleasure, much like how he does after a particularly delightful meal.

Aziraphale wondered how it felt. It looked amazing.

“I have waited so long to do this. I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“My dear Crowley, as have I.”

They kissed again, more, deeper. The once gentle waves of the sea grew, all-consuming and beautiful at the same time. 

The noises Crowley was making - Aziraphale had never heard anything like it. It was pleasure, so pure and unguarded, changing and growing with every hitch of his hips, every soft kiss to his exposed neck. The very air was vibrating with it, suddenly breaking through in a powerful wave as Crowley moaned and desperately rutted against dream-Aziraphale

He was ripped out of the dream as Crowley woke up, cursing the mess in his sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more pleased I am with my writing the less I am able to form a coherent sentece in the notes and comments. Who put these multitudes in MY me?


	4. FOUR

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the universe begs Aziraphale to just TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELF! You are in love!!

It’s fine. It really is fine. Fine, great, good, and every conceivable synonym of the word is what it is.

“You. Are. Fine.” Aziraphale pointed at himself in the mirror that had somehow found its way into the bookshop, to really drive the point home. 

He wasn’t sure why he was looking at himself, considering he’s had this body for a very long time. He just felt different, so he must look different. But it was the same old face looking back at him, no trace of the enchanting aura he had seen in Crowley's dream.

Dreams didn’t always mean something. Plenty of humans had erotic dreams about people they had no interest in in real life. Aziraphale would know, he’d visited a few! And yet he couldn’t shake that heavy feeling in his gut.

Flashes of it came back to him at the most inopportune moments. When he should have been focusing on his reading, he found himself slowly tracing his lips with his fingertips, wondering how it would feel to be kissed like that. Like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

For Christ’s sake, he had absentmindedly sold a book today as he was lost in the thoughts of his hands on those sharp hips, in that soft hair, cradling that face. He had never dared to open his mind to the prospect of doing such things with Crowley. It would be incredibly dangerous, for both of them.

Dream-Aziraphale got to do that. But the real Aziraphale didn’t. What else had dream-Aziraphale done with Crowley? Had they touched each other, furtive hands finding the place where they were most craved? Had Crowley backed him up against a bookshelf with that hungry look in his eyes, pressing into him roughly and pushing one leg between his own, allowing for delicious friction? Maybe he had used his mouth, sucking bruises into Aziraphales thighs, teasing him with his sharp incisors, until Aziraphale begged for him.

Aziraphale pulled himself into reality. He stared at the mirror, and his blushing reflection stared back. His pupils were blown out, and there was an unmistakable outline pressing against the fabric of his trousers. 

He glared at the mirror in a way that suggested it better leave the way it came. He didn’t want this dumbfounded, frozen staring to become a habit. 

-/-/-

A week went by. Aziraphale avoided visiting dreams altogether, and Crowley was just as petulant, sarcastic and wonderful as usual. And when Aziraphale found himself next to Crowley on the sofa, instead of his safe spot in an armchair opposite, it was probably just a coincidence. The kind of wonderful coincidence that spread a tickling warmth through him when their eyes locked and Crowley stumbled over his words, however imperceptive the stammer.

Something had awakened in him. As if he had lived in a dark room all of his life and someone flipped the lights on. It was the very same room, but suddenly the contours were sharper, colours stronger, and the way ahead more clear. He wanted Crowley. With all his heart, he wanted Crowley. He had needed himself to be unaware of the fact when their lives were in danger, but now, the lights were on. And he never wanted to live in the darkness again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. A shortie, but things will start to happen very, very soon.


	5. Fifth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone who has left comment so far: I love you. You are exquisite
> 
> This story is slightly running away from me, but by god. I will catch up

“Do you dream?” A regular question on a regular night. Very usual and normal, Aziraphale thought, pleased with his skills of incredibly insignificant small-talk.

“Sometimes.”

“Who- or rather, what do you dream about?” The lights were low, but Aziraphale could discern a slight pink tinge on Crowley's ears that wasn’t there before.

“Bleh,” He gestured vaguely into the air with his hands. “I usually just forget.”

“But you remember some?”

“‘S’pose I do.”

“Such as…?”

“I dunno, just bits and pieces. What does it matter?” Crowley had taken on a shade reminiscent of the sunset in its last stages.

In the reality outside of Crowley's face, which didn’t seem to matter as much anymore to Aziraphale, the sunset was long gone, and the bottles of wine were customarily empty. The air felt slightly electrified, a tension idling in between the atoms.

“Just curious. I rarely sleep, as you know.”

“Maybe you should try it.”

“Yes, maybe I should. What positions would you recommend?”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale as if he had suggested they steal the declaration of independence. “Positions?”

“Yes. For sleeping.”

“Oh. I dunno, just, do what feels good.”

“Perhaps you could show me?”

“Do you even have a bed?”

-/-/-

“Well,” Crowley said, looking at the fashionably beige bed before him like it could explode at any second. “Since I am a bit snake-ish i can usually curl up however I want, but I suspect your spine wouldn’t appreciate that. You can just, you know.”

“I don’t think I do.”

Crowley approached the bed slowly. He sat down on the edge. It gently gave way for his body with a soft creak, and for a second he looked truly nervous.

“You don’t have to show me, if you’re not feeling up for it,” Aziraphale hurried to say. “I’m sure I can ask some humans about how they sleep.”

“No, I mean, it’s fine. It’s just, this really is a monstrosity.”

“Monstrosities? Where?” Aziraphale said dramatically, pretending to look behind the curtains for gargoyles and the like.

Crowley laughed. Somehow he looked adorable even though his sharp canines made an appearance. Perhaps because of it.

“I mean the bed, you little bastard! In the history of the world, beige tartan has never been trendy. Never will be, I reckon.” Crowley patted the bed, remnants of a smile still playing on his face. “Come here. It won’t do with you watching over me like a hawk.”

Aziraphale sat down on the other side of the bed. He really had no idea where he was going with this, just that he wanted to be close to Crowley. Perhaps, in some preferably not embarrassing, invasive, friendship-ending way, find out whether Crowley was attracted to him in real life and not just in dreams. If he wasn’t, Aziraphale would try to still his heart, and be happy for what they had. It felt impossible, but for Crowley, he could do it. He had to. 

If Crowley wanted him, he would give himself. 

“How do you do when you read?”

Aziraphale moved himself up to the plush pillows by the headboard and sat as he usually did.

“Yeah, not very good for sleeping that one. Now this...” Crowley laid down on his side facing away from Aziraphale, knees curled up towards his stomach.

“This one’s a classic,”

“Yes, that does seem familiar.” Aziraphale tried to breathe. Crowley's arse was displayed quite nicely in that position. The curve of his back had made his shirt slide up to reveal a delicious strip of skin on his lower back. Tiny, light freckles dotted his skin like stars on a clear night. More than anything, Aziraphale wanted to touch him. He felt more drunk from that intimate reveal of skin than the bottles of wine they had shared.

Be brave, he told himself, and carefully wrapped himself around Crowley's form, effectively spooning him.

Crowley squeaked, but didn’t move.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Aziraphale started to move away. His face was feeling very hot.

“No! I mean, nah, it’s quite nice actually. You’re warm.”

“I think it’s quite nice too.”

“Here,” Crowley arranged his arms so that one were under Crowley's neck and the other over him, leaving them in an embrace.

It was an incredible feeling, pressing the entirety of their bodies together. He hadn’t fully realised how little they had touched before, fingers brushing over each other when handing over glasses of wine, walking with linked arms at the time it was fashionable, and that time on the bus, directly after the apocalypse, when Crowley took Aziraphales hand in his. Nothing compared to the warmth, the feeling of bone-deep contentment, and the safe rhythm of Crowley’s breathing. He didn’t have to breathe, but he did it anyway. His heart had no reason to beat, but it did so nonetheless. He didn’t need to be with Aziraphale, but here he was.

“Are you actually falling asleep?” Crowley asked, interpreting Aziraphales silence as sleepiness, the rumbling of his voice transferring into Aziraphales chest.

“Maybe.” He did feel uncharacteristically foggy. “Would you mind?”

“Nah. Might take a nap myself.”

Crowley smelled like autumn, and his hair was incredibly soft. All the tension leaked out of Aziraphale, leaving him more relaxed than he’s ever been before. I could die here, Aziraphale thought as he closed his eyes. I really could.

But he didn’t die. He just fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what happens next will SLAP YOUR BALLS CLEAN OFF


	6. Six aka:sir, your balls.

It was still in the early hours of the morning when Aziraphale started to wake up. His mind, unused to the transition, hovered over the line of consciousness. His body tingled and a warmth was surging through him, pooling between his legs. He was hard. Something was pushing up against his crotch, causing delicious sparks of pleasure to run up his spine. Aziraphale mindlessly rutted back. _Oh_. It had been a long time since he humoured that part of his body, and he hummed in delight at the sensation. He stayed on the edge of sleep for a minute, letting his so sparsely indulged instinct guide him through the building pleasure. A moan filled the air and it took a couple of seconds for Aziraphale to realise that it hadn’t come from him.

Then he registered that the something that was so wonderfully pressing against him, was probably a person. He opened his eyes with a gasp, suddenly fully awake.

Crowley.

The demon was breathing heavily, little bits of moans escaping with every exhale. His body was restless, hips rocking erratically, plush arse pressing against Aziraphale’s cock with a torturous rhythm.

“Crowley” whispered Aziraphale desperately, feeling like he might go cross-eyed with pleasure.

“Crowley, wake up!”

To Aziraphales relief and disapointment, Crowley stirred. He turned around and his eyes opened to met Aziraphales for just a second, revealing an enchanting slip of black and yellow before closing again. Then a hand found his neck, softly pushing him closer until their faces were just millimetres apart. 

Then Crowley kissed him. As naturally as if he had been for the entire night. 

He crawled on top of Aziraphale, straddling him. His hips kept on with their unforgiving rhythm, only stuttering when he licked the seam of Aziraphales lips, letting himself in as if it were his own mouth. Aziraphale thought he might melt into a puddle of angelic goo. Who would have thought that out of all the culinary delights throughout human history, Crowley would be his favourite taste?

Clowey did something with his hips that made Aziraphale gasp helplessly. He was so overwhelmed by the delicious pressure of a body, the new sensations flooding in every second, the exciting potential of the hard cock that mercilessly grinded against his hip. He wanted so badly to give in.

“Crowley, ple- Ah!”

Crowly playfully bit at his neck, somehow hitting an incredibly sensitive spot immediately. A hand ghosted along Aziraphales straining cock, and he tried not to buck up into it. He really tried.

“Crowley, you aren’t- I mean, I’m not-”

Crowley’s eyes opened again. He stared emptily for a second, spit slicked lips and inhumanly expanded pupils making him the spitting image or eroticism. Then his face fell in shock. His eyes were as big as teacups, then plates, then the entire buffet.

“Holy fucking shit.” his voice was hoarse.

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck. I am so sorry Aziraphale. I’m sorry. I can't believe… I just thought… Shit!”

“Hey, lets just-”

“I should go,” In what seemed like a second, Crowley was already off the bed and making a beeline for the door.

“Wait!”

But by some evil miracle, he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I love this fandom <3 Thank you so much for commenting and kudos:ing -if you're a writer you know how much it means.


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